The Workhouse Children

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  Moving the stack of newspapers as Bertha placed her meal on the table, Liza smiled her thanks. Thick broth steamed in front of her and she savoured the aroma as Bertha cut large chunks of soft fresh bread.

  ‘Get it down yer, girl, it’ll do you good,’ Bertha grinned as Liza tucked in.

  Over tea by the fire later, the women discussed the prospect of Liza finding work, both aware it was unlikely anyone would take her on. Retiring to her bed, Liza set her mind to finding a way to get to Wolverhampton and get at Ada Tulley.

  *

  ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ Fred was waiting for his wife on the steps of the workhouse. Ada ignored him and strode through the open door going straight to their personal quarters. Her burly husband trotted along behind her. ‘I asked you…’

  ‘I heard you, I ain’t deaf!’ Ada interrupted.

  ‘Well, where…?’ Fred tried again.

  Ada turned to face him her hands on her bony hips. ‘Now you listen to me, Fred Tulley, and you listen good. I don’t have to explain myself to you. You can ask all you like, but I ain’t telling you nothing!’

  ‘You don’t talk to me like that! I am the Master here!’ Fred yelled.

  Ada grinned. ‘You may be the Master here… but you ain’t the master of me!’

  Tulley glared at the woman he called wife. So that’s how it was going to be. Bloody women! As he stormed out of the living room, he thought, it’s to be hoped they’re never given the vote!

  Ada cackled as she poured herself a glass of beer. She had no intentions of working herself to death in this place. She would do the bare minimum and no more. Let the Master do his share of hard work for a change. Sitting on a chair, she propped her booted feet on the table, taking a swig of her beer. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she cackled again. Yes, she was going to enjoy this job.

  Fred stomped down the corridor, his mind on the change in Ada. She had always had a fiery temper but this quiet confidence unnerved him. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Maybe if they got into another fight he could finish her off, then he’d be rid of her for good.

  His rounds of the workhouse completed and everyone in their beds, Fred returned to his quarters where he found Ada asleep with her mouth open, her feet on the table. Her snores resonated around the living room. Watching her a moment, he wondered why he had married her? Was she ever young? Was she ever pretty? He couldn’t remember. Stepping forward, he pushed her feet off the table. Ada was awake in an instant, fury plastering her face.

  ‘Where’s my damned supper?’ Tulley boomed.

  ‘Same place as mine!’ Ada said sharply as she poured herself another drink.

  ‘Ada…’ Fred said.

  ‘Don’t you “Ada” me, Fred Tulley! I ain’t cooking for you no more. I ain’t doing your washing and don’t you even think about sharing my bed. From now on you will be sleeping on there!’ Ada pointed to the sofa.

  Fred shook his head in despair as he walked into the kitchen to find something for his supper. Slicing bread and cheese, he determined the sooner he was free of Ada, the better.

  *

  Joseph Purcell boarded the train at Bilston station and sat in the first-class carriage. He was on his way to see someone who might have some ideas about defaming Cara Flowers. He could not prevent her from building her houses or buying up old properties, but maybe he could slur her name somehow.

  He saw nothing even though he sat by the window in the train, his mind was on the blue-eyed blonde who had ridiculed him. He had heard the titters of women and overheard the men’s conversations in the local taverns.

  Fancy, who would have thought a woman could close down the workhouse?

  The Board of Guardians had been outwitted and ousted!

  Cara Flowers had given housing and work to the inmates. She had reduced the ‘Bread Line’. She was a Saint!

  Joseph fumed quietly as the train chugged along, even the steady sound of the wheels on the track unable to calm him. He snarled at a child staring at him then turned to look out of the window. He smiled inwardly as he wondered what dirty tricks could be played to besmirch the good name of Cara Flowers.

  Thirty-Three

  Certain that Bertha Jenkins had left the house to go to her work down at the local school, Liza dressed herself in her oldest clothes and set off for the heath. For her plan to work it was important to look destitute. She needed to get to Wolverhampton and she’d reasoned her best bet was to hope for a lift with a carter going that way. Sure enough, no sooner had she set foot on the scrubland than a kind carter said for her to climb aboard. Telling him she was visiting family in Wolverhampton, the two chatted amiably during the journey.

  Arriving in the huge town, she left the carter at the market by the side of St. George’s Church and with a cheery wave she walked down Cleveland Road. Not entirely sure she was going in the right direction, Liza trudged on nevertheless. She marvelled at the massive building which was the general hospital as she passed by.

  Stopping at the blacksmith’s yard, she asked directions to the workhouse. Pointing further down the street, the smithy shook his head sadly as he watched her move on.

  Liza stood before the lodge gate and called out in a weak voice.

  The porter came over to her. ‘What you want?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘I want to get in,’ Liza said quietly.

  ‘You got a ticket?’ Liza shook her head. ‘Then you can’t get in. Bugger off!’

  Leaning against the gate, Liza forced tears until they ran down her face.

  ‘Please, sir, I ain’t got any money,’ she sobbed, ‘I got nowhere to live and I ain’t had anything to eat for days.’ She saw him cast a glance over her. Knowing she was thin beneath her ragged clothes and her hair was still short from being in Bilston workhouse, she added, ‘I’ve been in the “Spike” in Birmingham, but I came here looking for work.’ Still her tears flowed.

  The porter laughed saying, ‘You’d have been better off staying there, wench!’

  Liza could see he was a tough nut to crack and her tears were having no effect on him. But she knew if she was to take her revenge on Ada Tulley, she had to get herself a place here in the Union Workhouse. Time for a new strategy, she thought. Liza crumpled to the ground and lay with her eyes closed.

  Seeing her fall, the porter muttered, ‘Oh Christ!’ Opening the gate quickly, he moved to the prone woman. Pushing his arms beneath hers, he helped her to stand, saying, ‘Come on, you poor bugger.’

  ‘What happened? Where am I?’ Liza asked as if in a daze.

  ‘You’m at the workhouse, wench,’ the porter said as he struggled to relock the gate and hold Liza upright. ‘Come on, let’s get you inside.’

  ‘Oh,’ Liza swooned again against the man helping her to walk. ‘You am a kind man.’

  As they entered the large front door, Liza silently congratulated herself on her consummate acting skills. Liza Townsend, you should have been on the stage, she thought.

  Liza had rubbed ash from the fire into her fair hair before she left Bertha’s house in an effort to disguise herself, and keeping her eyes down during her interview with the Master she was relieved when Tulley didn’t recognize her. She had secured a place in the Union workhouse. As she was led to the bath house, Liza wondered why the Matron had not been in evidence. No matter, their paths would cross soon enough, she was sure.

  Having been given the workhouse uniform after bathing and being checked for lice, Liza was taken down a long corridor to the kitchen. She was presented with a bowl of soup and chunk of bread. Then she was told to peel and chop a great mound of vegetables. Even from the little she had seen so far, it seemed this place was far better than the one in Bilston.

  In her bed that night, along with many other women in the dormitory, Liza prayed Bertha Jenkins would forgive her for just taking off without a word. Liza knew she would be in this place for a while. She had to await the perfect opportunity to execute her plan. Ignoring the sobs of the other wom
en, she settled down to sleep. She had done with feeling sorry for herself… now it was time for action.

  *

  Bertha did not immediately worry on her return from the school, seeing Liza Townsend was not at home. She may have gone to the market; she may even have gone to see the site of the old ‘Spike’ and the new building taking place there. However, by the next morning Bertha became concerned – Liza had not returned.

  Going to her work, Bertha decided to wait and see if Liza was home when she got back before taking matters further. Fretting all day, wondering what she could do about the absconding Liza, she went home. After a quick search she realized the house was still empty. She immediately walked out again and trudged across to Dr Cooper’s surgery. Liza was in his custody after all, and she felt he should know his charge had done a flit.

  The doctor listened as Bertha explained that Liza had gone missing. She answered his questions patiently. No, Liza had not seemed upset about anything. Yes, she had eaten well. No, she had given no indication of her intentions. Bertha said, ‘Liza did pore over the old newspapers looking for work though.’

  Dr Cooper made a request. ‘Would you check every word of the last newspaper Liza read please? It might provide a clue as to where she has gone.’ Bertha assured him she would do that straight away.

  Dr Cooper had an inkling about where Liza may be, but he needed to wait and see what, if anything, Bertha uncovered in the newspaper. If his thinking proved correct, the doctor knew they might never see Liza Townsend again.

  *

  Ada Tulley was heard before she was seen and Liza pulled her cotton bonnet further down to shield her face. The Matron strode into the kitchen screaming out her orders. Liza kept her back to Ada. She knew the woman was newly appointed to the position of Matron and couldn’t possibly know all the inmates as yet. Be that as it may, Liza was taking no chances of being recognized; keeping her head down, she continued to chop the vegetables.

  An argument broke out between Ada and the head cook and the inmates ceased their work to watch. Only Liza ignored it. She’d heard it all before. The cook insisted on peeling vegetables, Ada said it was wasteful. The screeching stopped as the cook slammed a lid down on a pot of broth. Suddenly the kitchen was silent, then pushing her nose forward, the cook spoke quietly.

  ‘I know you are new here, Matron, but this is my kitchen! You can always do the cooking yourself if you think you can do better!’

  Ada snorted and moved around to inspect the bins. Dipping her hand into the first bin, she pulled out what looked like a package. Unwrapping the paper revealed a chunk of meat. Ada hit the roof. ‘Why is this being discarded? It is still good enough to use!’

  Liza’s shoulders tensed as she struggled to keep her temper as well as her anonymity. Ada Tulley was up to her old tricks again. Liza smiled at the cook’s next words.

  ‘All right Matron, I’ll use it… hand it over and I’ll cook it up for your supper!’ The cook held out her hand. Titters sounded as Ada harrumphed, then the cook refolding her arms continued, ‘I ain’t using bad food and that’s final! If you ain’t happy with that – let’s me and you take it to the Board of Guardians!’

  Returning the meat to the bin, Ada strode from the kitchen in a foul temper.

  Back in her living room Ada knew it was unlikely she would get the better of this cook. Bugger it! Pouring herself a beer, she flopped into a chair. She decided to stay put and get drunk. She had telephoned the brewery for a regular order of beer to be delivered every week which she kept in a cupboard in the living room. She didn’t care whether Fred liked it or not, she did and that was all that mattered.

  Liza continued her work in a far better mood as she listened to the cook chuntering about ‘that bloody woman’, ‘I ain’t never heard the like’, ‘fancy expecting me to use meat that’s on the turn!’. Chatter amongst the women in the kitchen continued about the new Matron and her mean ways. The cook assured everyone there would be no using bad food in her kitchen. ‘After my shift I intend to have a word in the Master’s ear concerning his interfering wife.’

  Turning to Liza, the cook asked, ‘Wench, can you bake?’ Liza nodded. ‘Right, let’s get baking, the inmates are going to have a cake pudding tonight!’ More applause rang out as the baking began. Puddings of any sort were unheard of in the workhouse; bread and gruel being the staple diet. The cook shouted above the noise of the kitchen. ‘The cakes are to be set out in the centre of the tables before the dinner is served so everyone knows they have a pudding! If Ada Tulley don’t like it… refer her to me!’ Cheers and applause sounded again and Liza Townsend thought, Ada Tulley won’t like it but then, with luck, she won’t live long enough to complain!

  *

  Joseph Purcell sat in the Master’s office in the Wolverhampton Union workhouse. Tulley was uncomfortable under the man’s gaze as he knew he had contributed to the fall of the ‘Spike’ in Bilston by just walking out.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Tulley asked eventually.

  ‘As you know, Tulley, the workhouse in Bilston has gone! There are houses being built on the land by Cara Flowers.’ Purcell paused dramatically as he flicked imaginary lint from his trousers.

  Tulley nodded and muttered, ‘Bloody woman!’

  ‘Quite so.’ Purcell said. ‘Now, we both know we cannot prevent her from doing that, we cannot stop her buying up old premises and housing the inmates either, so we need to find another way to exact our revenge. We need to besmirch her name. We have to convince the people of the town that Cara is not quite the angel they take her for.’

  ‘How?’ Tulley asked.

  Joseph Purcell leaned back in his chair and outlined his plan.

  ‘What?!’ Tulley shouted. ‘You have to be joking!’ The look on Purcell’s face left him in no doubt this was not a joke. ‘What about if Ada finds out… she might think… my life would be hell!’

  ‘Your life is hell with her as it is!’ Purcell smirked.

  Pulling out his wallet, Joseph withdrew one hundred pounds, laying it in a fan on the desk in front of Tulley. The Master’s wide eyes roamed greedily over the money. ‘There’s more where that came from.’ Replacing his wallet in his pocket, he smiled.

  Fred Tulley rubbed his chin and considered his options, his eyes switching from the money to the man and back again. He could take the money, and more besides, and hope his wife remained ignorant of his part in Purcell’s plan or… he could refuse the offer and remain poor. In his mind there was no contest, Fred Tulley had no intentions of being a poor man forever. This plan would see him wealthy in no time and he could then remove himself from this pitiful place, leaving Ada behind once and for all. He would have enough money to retire from work altogether and live the rest of his life in luxury.

  Leaning forward, Fred shook the hand of Joseph Purcell sealing the bargain before he swiftly pocketed the money.

  Joseph congratulated himself on a good day’s work.

  On the train journey home Purcell ironed out the details of his plan. Stepping from the train carriage onto the platform at Bilston station, he walked to the street and hailed a cab to take him back to Brueton House.

  Arriving home, he ran up the steps into his house. He would have his dinner then he had a telephone call to make.

  ‘Lander old boy, how are you?’ Purcell spoke into the handset of the telephone. ‘I wonder if I might call on you tomorrow morning. No, no, it’s a personal matter. Yes, nine o’clock would be perfect. Thanks, see you in the morning.’ Hanging the earpiece on the side of the telephone stand, he replaced the whole on the table.

  Snipping the end of his cigar with a cutter, he struck a match and held it to the end, rolling the cigar in his fingers until it caught light. Puffing on the cigar, he threw the match into a heavy glass ashtray. Lifting a cut-glass whisky glass, he sipped its contents.

  Glass in one hand, cigar in the other, Purcell smiled into the dancing flames of the fire. He had started the ball rolling regarding his plan to destroy Cara
Flowers’ reputation. Quaffing his whisky, Purcell laughed out loud.

  Thirty-Four

  The following morning Martin Lander found himself shocked to the core as Joseph Purcell finished speaking. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he said at last. ‘Do you have proof of what you’ve told me?’

  ‘Of course, Martin, I’m the Magistrate – I know the law!’ Purcell had anticipated the question. ‘I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you, but I felt you should know. After all, this does affect you directly.’

  Martin nodded before he raked his hands through his hair and sighed audibly. ‘Thank you, Joseph, I appreciate how difficult this must have been for you.’

  ‘What will you do now?’ Purcell asked, feigning concern.

  Shaking his head, Martin answered, ‘I don’t know… I’m not sure as yet.’

  Apologizing again for being the bearer of such bad news, Purcell left Martin Lander’s office. Riding back to the courthouse, he chuckled to himself. How long would it take for the town to learn what he had just divulged to Lander? Would the people believe it? How would they react? All Joseph had to do now was sit back and wait. It would be interesting to see how events unfolded.

  Martin Lander sat in his office, his mind endeavouring to make sense of what he’d been told. Surely it was untrue? How had he not known? He’d heard no gossip. There was only one way to find out – he would ask Cara – now!

  Dashing out of his office, he hailed a cab and told the cabbie to hurry.

  The journey to The Laburnums seemed interminably slow but eventually the cab pulled into the driveway. Pushing coins into the cabbie’s hand, Martin launched himself up the steps and banged on the front door. Shoving past Molly in the doorway, Martin yelled, ‘Cara!’